Rainbow Knife
by Chloe Weible
Summary: It was special in which they made the knife blade to look like someone sealed a rainbow in it. The handle was made of a black oak wood, his real name craved in the wood.


Rainbow Knife

(I don't own Teen Wolf or any of it's characters. No copy right infringement. Only right I own is staring at the sexy-ness of the show when it is on MTV or Netflix. )

(I decided to do a one-shot because lately I have had the desire to do something more dark and sad)

All he could remember was it was the winter time. The snow had not come in yet but the wind came early, freezing any living thing who dared to be out in the open. He didn't remember the time either. All he knew it was sometime in the evening, just as the sun was fading over the hills. His father was gone and probably wouldn't return until morning, leaving him to his own thoughts. The very thoughts that pushed him to this point. Points of how he was useless and always screwed things up. He felt like he was drowning but no one would ever save him. The nightmares was the starting point and the words were the ending point. He tried to tell him that none of it mattered but it did. Honey brown eyes stared down at the knife in his hand. It was the last thing his mother gave him. It was special in which they made the knife blade to look like someone sealed a rainbow in it. The handle was made of a black oak wood, his real name craved in the wood. In his other hand was a small vial. He felt so Romeo and Juliet, a dagger in one hand and the poison in another. The vial was full of wolfs bane, a safe guard for him. This lonely boy wanted to die and the poison kept him on his path.

He sat in the middle of the woods, far from where any werewolf could smell him until his deed was done. He didn't care anyways. It was not like they cared about him anyways. They always come to him when they needed him. When he needed them, none of them were found. He felt bad for leaving his father but it was better than always letting him down. He knew he was at fault for his mother's death. He saw it everyday in the older man's eyes as he tried to look at his son. The son that looked like his dead wife. The wind whistled through the trees and he let out a sigh. He stared back at the blade and poison with sorrow. He put the vial to his lips and went the bitter tasting liquid run down his throat.

He throw the vial away from him and heard the glass shatter against a nearby tree. His eyes blinked, full of tears when he looked up to stare at the moon that was beginning to rise in the sky. The blade was next and this one told more effort than he realized. It took him a good twenty minutes before he finally just got angry, the blade cutting through flesh and tissue. The pain was hot and sticky as the knife struck out of his chest, inches from his heart. The blood poured out from the wound and all over the blade. His tears run down his face and he felt the taste of his own blood as it dripped out of his mouth. The last thing he heard was feet running. The last thing he was the face of a man he thought he loved. A man who's very words sent him to this point.

"_Stiles, you pack? Now what made you think that?" The man snapped as the boy stood there in front of the burnt house, his hands in fists. The boy couldn't even remember how he had gotten in his car and left the house. All he remember was throwing up in the bathroom when he got home. Then crafting his master plan. _

With his last breaths of life, he tried to push the man away from him. The pain strike through his body and to his soul as the movement hurt him. The man just pushed back, trying to let the boy help him. He felt the man look at the knife and it seemed he decided not to pull it out. When the man sniffed the boy's neck, he knew the man could smell the poison that was now pumping through his veins. The man tried to pick the boy up but the boy fought, some bit of strength left in him. When the man give up on moving the boy, the boy finally pulled out the knife out of his chest. Blood rushed down his chest in waves but the boy didn't care. His last action was hand the man the bloody knife, the blade that has his real name on it. The man stared at the knife, stared at the name printed there before their eyes met for the last time. "Remember my name, Derek. Remember that name because it is the name of someone who loved you." The man listened to those words before the boy's heart stopped and the boy's eyes were dull, no longer full of life. His eyes then stared down at the bloody knife in his hands again. "Geniem. I am sorry because I loved you too."


End file.
